Grandma Always Said

Grandma always said, “When they’re little, children step on your toes. When they’re grown, they step on your heart.”

I always thought the 'grown' part meant grown--as in ‘grown-up’. I really didn’t think teenage boys could put such a hurting on me, but they certainly did.

It started simply enough—a conversation with my oldest son regarding upcoming extracurricular events.  “When’s the first competition?” I asked.

“I dunno,” was the reply. “Why do you want to know?
“Well...I guess because I want to be there? You know, to support you.”
“Mom, you don’t have to go to the competitions.”
What?? My mom was at every little event that I participated in. I wanted her there. I needed her there. Maybe that’s a difference between boys and girls? I just couldn’t comprehend why I wasn’t wanted—needed!!
“Geez, son! It almost sounds like you don’t want me there.”

Silence filled the air.

Now up to this point it’s been a light-hearted conversation. But suddenly my heart doesn’t feel so light. “You do want me there, right?”
I am met with nothing but more uncomfortable silence. I ask the dreaded question—why don’t you want me there?
“Oh Mom, you don’t have to be there. You’ll just embarrass me.”

Now I have to admit, I’ve got some hormones flying all over the place these days. I’m prone to bouts of tears and mood swings. This whole peri-menopause thing leaves a lot to be desired. I really thought it would be my daughter in puberty and me in menopause, a frightening thought, indeed. But as it is, estrogen is battling it out with a double dose of testosterone! I put my emotions in check for the moment and decided to table the discussion. I rationalized that I was being ridiculous and overly emotional. Let it go!

The very next day, I take son number 2 to his high school Freshman Orientation, which included a parent meeting. As I was busy chattering away with other moms, son 2 takes his seat in the auditorium. I finish my conversation and make way toward sonny boy so that I could sit with him during the presentation.

Maybe it was me asking him, in front of some friends, if the seat next to him was taken. Maybe I looked funny. Smelled bad? I don’t know. But I do know that my son told me he didn’t want me there because he would be embarrassed.

Ooooo! Ouch!! Yet another crushing heart blow! What is this? A conspiracy?? Do I really embarrass my children?

Later that day, I closed myself up in the bedroom and cried my eyes out. I was hurt--devastated that I wasn’t the cool mom I had painted in my mind. Then I became so angry, not at my children, but at myself for being unable to control this cry baby that I had become. I am a grown woman!! Boo Hoo. Woe is me. Let’s have a pity party…one…two…three….

Build a bridge, damn it!!

My poor husband comes home from work that night and is greeted by our darling daughter, who is quick to tell daddy that mommy is NOT having a good day. Husband finds me, and proceeds to fight tooth and nail to get it out of me—what is the matter?
“Nothing,” I sob through the tears.

He is smart enough to know that when a woman says nothing is wrong when she’s curled up under the covers crying her eyes out, surrounded by shreds of used tissues, that something is most definitely wrong. Finally..finally...I spill my guts.  Upon hearing my tale of woe, my champion storms out of the room to find his ungrateful sons. He’s gone for some time. When he returns to me, his arms are laden with computers, cell phones and video games.

“I cut the power to their room, too! The law says we only have to provide food, shelter, and clothing! Ungrateful little brats!” Yes, he is an extremist!

But because we are rational people (at least we like to think so), a family meeting was called. Conflict can only be resolved through communication.  I really didn’t want my boys to see me a big sloppy mess. I knew if we sat down to talk about this that the dam was gonna start leaking again. But my husband thought it was important that the boys  see how deeply they hurt me. That whole saying about sticks and stones is crap. Words do hurt!

Tears flowed and tissues were tossed around, but ultimately we hashed it out. Turns out I’m not a total embarrassment to my boys. Son 2 just didn’t know how to say that he wanted to do Freshman Orientation on his own—that he could handle it on his own. Now had he said that to me originally, I’m sure I still would have cried, but they would have been ‘My Baby Boy is Growing Up” tears.  Big difference.

Son 1—well…he said I could come to his events if I wanted to, but asked that I not scream and yell from the stands because that was embarrassing. Okay, I can do that. At least I think I can do that. Sometimes you get so caught up in the game, the match, the whatever, and you’re so darn proud of your child that you just can’t help but yell, “That’s my boy!!” Isn’t that what parents do??

I am assured by my mother this will not be the last time I embarrass my children, nor will it be the last time they hurt my feelings because…..as Grandma always said…..

When they’re little they step on your toes, when they’re grown they step on your heart.

Guess my boys are grown.

Building a Bridge

So I finally decide to join the bandwagon and start my own blog.  I'm excited.  I choose a blog name, fill out all the required info.  There are a thousand ideas floating around in my head.   I've always enjoyed writing and never seem to be at a loss for words.  It's gonna be good, I think to myself.

My fingers find the keys and words start flowing out of me.  I type and type and type some more.  Then, I stop.  I read what I wrote.  Yeah, I think it's funny--clever even, but I allow my thoughts to go past that, into my world of self doubt.  Well, maybe it's not so great.  Is it stupid?  What are these people who don't know me going to think of this drivel?  Who even cares?  Before I know it, I've backspaced away an hour of my life.  Cut.  Delete. Gone.  I'm left with an empty blog; a blinding white screen before me.  I've beaten myself...again.

I've always been my own worst enemy.  I don't need anyone to shatter my confidence, I'm perfectly capable of doing that on my own.  It's one thing I am good at.    I'm sure it all has to do with those unresolved childhood issues--not feeling as though I fit in, never feeling quite good enough.  blah, blah, blah, blah, blah

Good grief.  I am 40-something years old.  I really need to build a bridge.....and get over it.

So how does one, deep in the throes of mid-life, change the course that has been heavily paved with doubt all these years?   Why is it so difficult to for me to believe in me?    The contributors to my childhood self-doubt are no longer a part of my life.  I surround myself with people who raise me up, people who believe in me, in the hopes of drawing off their positive energies...... mix it up with my own, to create a new, self-confident being.  I employ the same tactic with young people, hoping to suck the youth and vitality right out of them.

So this blog is a start for me-a start to build my own confidence.  I'm just going to write the 'stuff' I like to write--for me.  Then I'm going to tell my people about it--the people who know me, the people who will boost me up.  Then I'm going to send it out into the anonymous cyber world and see what happens.  If all else fails, there's always 'delete'.

Building my bridge, one word at a time.